Tag Archives: boots

Mostly because it was Sunday, and she didn’t have to work. She had slept in until about 9:30, then gone out for a three-mile run. After that, it was workout time in her basement, lifting weights and practicing her punches and kicks on the big bag she had hung down there. Next came a filling and delicious but healthy brunch, followed by an appointment with her hairdresser to get her long black hair coiffed.

Now she was at the shooting range, practicing with her trusty .45 pistol. Taking aim, she imagined that her target was her asshole boss who had lied to his boss and tried to blame her for a mistake that he had made. She fired five rapid shots, paused and adjusted her aim, fired five more rounds, and ejected the now empty magazine. She reeled in the silhouette target and smiled with satisfaction. Five perfect shots to the heart, five perfect shots to the head.

She saw a couple of male stares out of the corner of her eye and smiled to herself. Although she was used to getting male attention almost anywhere she went, it was particularly common at the range, since so many guys were into girls with guns. Lissette had a model-like, high-cheekboned face, large dark brown eyes, a deep Latina tan, and a slender, athletic 5’7″, 120-pound figure. Although she was a tomboy and loved masculine things like shooting, football, and kickboxing, she knew how to be graceful and feminine as well. Her new coiffure, along with her outfit of a long, elegant, sleeveless red dress and knee-high black leather boots, emphasized her beauty and femininity.

She turned towards the men who had been staring at her. They blushed and quickly looked away. She giggled. The good thing about being hit on at the range was that the guys were always polite, respectful, and cautious to her there. Sometimes too cautious. When she was in the mood for a little flirting, sometimes she found herself having to make the first move.

Lissette swiftly and expertly loaded a fresh magazine into her gun and chambered a round. She went back to shooting, going through four more full magazines, each resulting in the same deadly accuracy on her targets as the first one. As she was leaving, she noticed that many of the men there were giving her looks that were a combination of sexual attraction and intimidation. She simply walked out with a calm and confident smile.

After a quick stop at her house to clean and put away her gun and wash up, she headed out to the local sports bar to meet up with her friends, watch Sunday Night Football, and enjoy beer and various deep-fried foods. Three hours later, as the fourth quarter wound down and the Green Bay Packers (once again) celebrated a victory over the Chicago Bears, she and her friends cheered. Yes, today had been a good day. If only tomorrow could be as good, she thought to herself as she drove home. Tomorrow it was back to work. Back to her obnoxious boss.

But it didn’t have to be that way. It didn’t have to be bad. She thought back to that moment with the road-rage asshole who had chased her. She remembered how good it had felt when she pulled her gun on him, when she slowly closed the trap around him as he begged for mercy, when she finally finished him with a shot to the head. The thrill, the rush, the feeling of pure power. Not to mention the feeling of delivering justice to someone who had been arrogant and abusive to everyone around him his whole life.

Her feelings were not without some caution. After killing him, she had been paranoid for several days, wondering if she would get caught, wondering if anyone knew, wondering if there would be a sudden midnight knock on her door. But after weeks had passed with no sign of the police, she had allowed herself to feel more confidence. She had gotten away with it.

It wasn’t that she disliked who she had been before. She was Lissette the athletic tomboy with a feminine streak, Lissette the ex-cheerleader, Lissette the intelligent, ambitious young woman with the degree from Stanford. She liked being all those things. But she had always wanted to be something more. And when fate had placed her in that situation with the road-rage asshole, she had discovered it. Now, she could be Lissette the skilled assassin, who could still blend into mainstream society. She could go from charming saleswoman in business attire to gun-toting badass in two seconds. She could be the kind of woman who performed better than any of the men around her, whether the situation was having the best sales numbers or surviving a zombie apocalypse.

As she parked her car in her driveway, she took a deep breath. Did she really want to go through with this? She had done one killing and escaped detection. She could quit while she was ahead. But then she would just go back to being Jane Doe instead of Sarah Connor. She would be fair, she decided. She would give her boss one last chance to repent and admit he had been wrong. If he didn’t…

Satisfied, she nodded to herself. No matter what, she would get a good night’s sleep tonight.

Monday morning found Lissette and her boss, Kirk, meeting with Kirk’s boss, Aurora, to try to resolve the situation. Lissette scowled as Kirk told his side of the story, continuing to lie and blame her for causing a client to cancel a large order, when in reality it had been all his fault. Well, she had given him his fair chance and he had blown it. Now, she would feel no guilt about taking the Sarah Connor path.

When it was her turn to speak, Lissette calmly defended herself, holding in her anger at her asshole boss. She went on to question why Kirk had been promoted over her in the first place, pointing out that her sales numbers consistently had been better than his, and wondering if maybe, just maybe, the fact that the company’s executive vice president was Kirk’s uncle had anything to do with it. That brought an angry shout from Kirk and a sharp warning from Aurora. “Quiet, both of you.”

Lissette looked over at her. Aurora was known as a tough but fair supervisor with a very rational, non-emotional personality, much like Juror No. 4 from Twelve Angry Men.

Aurora sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “Listen up. I hate this part of the job. I hate playing referee, especially when all I have is a he-said-she-said situation with no real proof of anything. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m not going to hand out any punishments. I’m going to trust both of you to do the best you can in dealing with our clients. Any talk of business lost or gained will wait until the next quarterly review. I think we’re done here.” Aurora stood up and walked out of the small conference room without another word.

Lissette gave Kirk an icy glare. “You know what you did.”

He simply smirked. “Yeah, but they don’t, and that’s what counts.” Snickering, he exited the room cockily.

Left alone, Lissette clenched her fists, causing the muscles in her slender but muscular forearms to ripple. He was going to pay. He would pay the ultimate price.

That afternoon, Lissette knocked on the door of Kirk’s office. “Come in,” he said. He scowled when he saw it was her. “What do you want?”

She gave him her most seductive fake smile. “Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I really like this job and I really want to do well. If you could give me a good evaluation, I could do something for you in return…” As she spoke, she undid the top button on her white blouse, giving him a tantalizing partial view of her small, firm, darkly tanned 34B tits. The scowl on Kirk’s ugly face was immediately replaced by a look of sexual attraction, and a bulge appeared underneath his pants.

“Sure, I can do that,” he said, lewdly licking his lips. Lissette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was so predictable. So fucking easy.

“How about tonight at your place?” she asked. “I want the two of us to be completely alone. I don’t want anyone to disturb us or find out what we’re doing.”

“Oh, trust me, we’ll be alone. I’ve got a lot of ideas I want to try out.” He turned to look out the window, pumping his fist in what he foolishly thought was victory. She took the opportunity to roll her eyes for real.

“I’ll be there at eight then. Make sure to bring that with you.” She pointed at his bulge, causing him to look down and blush with embarrassment. Buttoning her blouse back up, she smiled in triumph as soon as her back was turned to him. He had no idea that he had only a few hours left to live.

Lissette examined her reflection in her car window one last time. She was wearing thigh-high black stockings, black ankle boots with razor-sharp stiletto high heels, a black miniskirt, black leather gloves, and the white blouse she had been wearing earlier. Her long, slender, muscular killer legs were on full display. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled up to her elbows, showing off her slim but well-muscled, heavily developed, tanned brown forearms with prominent veins. The top button of the blouse was once again undone to display her cleavage, and she wore neither bra nor panties. Her trusty and lethal .45 pistol was securely strapped to her right thigh underneath her skirt. Satisfied with her looks, she grinned wickedly to herself. This was going to be fun.

She walked to the front door, making sure no one saw her, and rang the bell. Kirk opened the door. His eyes bulged out when he saw how Lissette was dressed. Something else lower down bulged out too. “Come in. Wow, you look amazing.”

“Thank you,” she replied with her best fake smile. “By the way, on the drive here I was just thinking…I know this great makeout and fuck spot on a bluff overlooking the lake. I discovered it when my high school sweetheart and I were looking for a new place. It’s completely secret. No one else knows about it. I think it would be so sexy to do the naughty there…”

“Wherever,” said Kirk. “Just as long as I get some of that tight pussy.” His erection was straining to get out of his pants. Girls in thigh-high stockings drove him wild.

She tried to hide her disgust. “Great. Get in my car and I’ll drive us there.”

Thirty minutes later, Lissette parked her car on the deserted bluff. Kirk had tried to fondle her breasts on the way over, but she had successfully stopped him by saying she didn’t want to get in an accident. She got out and stood on the grass, the moonlight illuminating her beautiful body.

Kirk was debating whether to demand sex from her on a regular basis in exchange for continued positive evaluations, or simply use her sexually for one night and then betray her by not following through on his promises. Although the continued sex was tempting, he still resented her for standing up to his bullying. Fucking and dumping her would make him feel like a big man for once.

Although Kirk drew a reasonably good salary, his unattractive looks, lack of athletic ability, lack of intellect, and ultra-obnoxious personality made him highly unpopular with the opposite sex. He tried to pretend to his coworkers that he was a “player,” having loud phone conversations with imaginary girlfriends, constantly boasting about nonexistent hot dates, and other lame tactics. Once he had seen a couple of sexy stewardesses at the mall, doing a promotion for a new airline and posing for pictures with passers-by. He had gotten the idea of taking a picture with one of them, then showing it to everyone at work and telling them she was his new girlfriend. But the hot flight attendants had somehow known exactly what he had been planning to do. Not only had they refused to pose with him, they had also loudly announced his failed plan to the entire crowd of people there. He felt his face redden as he recalled the public humiliation. Sometimes he feared that his coworkers knew he was bullshitting. (His fears were justified).

At least he wasn’t a virgin, he told himself as he tried to cheer himself up. Even though no girl had ever actually agreed to have sex with him. Kirk’s mind wandered back to his only sexual experience. At a college party, a group of basketball players had drugged a girl’s drink, then taken her upstairs and gang-raped her. After they had finished, he had snuck upstairs and “lost” his virginity by raping the almost unconscious girl. He was incredibly insecure about his lack of sexual success, and he constantly replayed the disgraceful sexual assault in his mind. In his twisted way of thinking, it was the only thing he had. Even the basketball players would have beaten him up if they had found out what he had done.

He looked over at sexy Lissette. Finally, an incredibly hot woman was throwing herself at him. After tonight, he would finally be a man. She looked back at him, her dark brown eyes seeming to pierce right through him. Although at 5’10” and 165 pounds he was bigger than her, with her three-inch high heels her eyes were on the same level as his. In addition, he could see how muscular, athletic, and tanned her body was in comparison to his flabby, out-of-shape, pale one. That fact gave him a strange mix of insecurity and sexual attraction towards her.

She smiled at him seductively. “Close your eyes,” she whispered. Thinking she was going to strip and reveal herself to him nude, he obeyed.

He felt her place her hands on his shoulders. Then, suddenly, a fiery pain erupted in his groin. His eyes flew open and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his badly brutalized family jewels. Sure enough, Lissette was standing over him, her stocking-clad left leg still raised after her devastating knee to his crotch. “Uggghhh…what the fuck?” he groaned when he was finally able to speak.

She glared down at him. The phony warmth had vanished and was replaced with cold, icy hatred. “Are you seriously that fucking stupid? Did you really think I would EVER have sex with a vile, disgusting creep like you? You thought you were going to screw me? Well, you’ve screwed me over for the last time. I lured you out here where there were no witnesses, and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Now, I’m going to have my revenge. Now, I’m going to screw YOU. But not in the good way.” She viciously stomped on his face with her razor-sharp stiletto heel, leaving a deep, bloody wound on his left cheek.

Kirk stumbled to his feet. All the air seemed to have rushed out of his body. Once again, a beautiful woman had tricked and outsmarted him! Once again, he had to be reminded of how undesirable he was to the opposite sex!

His shame turned to anger. Arrogantly, he thought that the mere fact that he was a man and she was a woman meant that he could defeat her in combat. “Bitch,” he growled as he swung a punch at her face. She blocked it easily with her slender but muscular forearm, then drove her right fist into his flabby gut. As he doubled over and lost his breath, she punched him in the face with her gloved left. The impact from the rough leather opened up a bloody cut on his right cheek.

“Wimp,” she taunted him. “I’m more of a man than you could ever be.” She bounced up and down in her trained kickboxer’s stance, knowing he didn’t know how to fight, knowing how easily she could dominate him.

“Fucking cunt!” he roared, finally getting his breath back. He swung another wild punch at her. She danced out of the way easily and kicked him in the chest, knocking him backwards, her heel making a small but painful hole in his torso. The pretty Latina then became a brunette blur as she executed a cartwheel, kicking him in the head with both feet and knocking her victim down with the force of her exotic cart wheel kick. She kicked him hard in the side as he was down with the toe of her boot, breaking one of his ribs.

As he looked down at his bleeding chest and felt the pain from his broken rib, an icy chill came over Kirk. Slowly, he was realizing that this thin, hot chick was fully capable of killing him. For the first time, his brain began processing the cold fact that he was in mortal danger. He had to escape. He got up, grunting and cursing, and began to run.

Lissette smirked. Spinning around, her long black hair flying behind her, she began doing a series of standing back handsprings towards her fleeing opponent. Each time she was upside down, her bare crotch with its pubic hair neatly trimmed down to a landing strip became visible. She was slowly catching up to him, elegantly backflipping with a skill, grace, and speed that would make any Olympic gymnast jealous.

Kirk looked over his shoulder and was puzzled to see the attractive brunette back flipping towards him instead of running. Still, she was moving incredibly fast. He tried to turn on the jets and increase his speed. Unfortunately for him, he was already a slow runner, and his injuries slowed him down even more. The distance between them shrank slowly but surely as Lissette continued to execute her back hand springs, her muscular wrists and booted feet rhythmically landing on and pushing off from the grass. Flick-flack, flick-flack, flick-flack. She caught him after fifteen hand springs, crashing into him and knocking him down.

She sat on him, wiggling her ass, rubbing it in, humiliating him, and laughed. “I’m a girl and you’re a man, and I was doing back handsprings and you were running. And I was still far too quick for you!” Despite his fear and shame, Kirk felt his rod stiffening in his pants. He had always had a fetish for girls who could do back flips, much of it motivated schmoe-style by the knowledge that he could never be athletic enough to perform moves like that.

Lissette felt his hard-on underneath her and glared down at him in disgust. “You fucking pervert. Don’t tell me you’re also one of those douchebags who has a fetish for gymnast girls! I had enough trouble with those types when I was a high school cheerleader practicing my flick flacks.” She punched him in the face several times with her leather-gloved fists. When she was done, her helpless victim had two black eyes, a broken nose, and three loose teeth. Lissette used a kip-up to athletically get back to her feet. “I bet that’s another thing a woman can do that you can’t,” she mocked him.

Sure enough, Kirk got up with a slow, clumsy stumble. As soon as he had finished standing up straight, she unleashed a devastating cheerleader-style high kick to his face, ripping a long, bloody cut from chin to forehead with her high heel and sending him to the grass once again. She spread open the fallen male’s legs, then kicked him in the groin with her booted feet several times with all her strength, sending his testicles back up somewhere into his body.

Kirk had passed out from the sheer, vicious power of her brutal kicks. Smirking in triumph, Lissette yanked down his pants and underwear, then flipped him over, leaving him on the ground with his vulnerable ass exposed in the air. Reaching underneath her miniskirt, she drew her .45 pistol and waited.

Kirk awoke with a moan. He began trying to turn over, but stopped cold when Lissette pressed the barrel of her gun into the back of his skull.

“I love guns,” she said casually. “I love the feeling of power I get when I fire them. I love knowing that I can beat most guys easily at a shooting competition. And I love knowing that I can use them to solve problems.” At that last sentence, a shiver ran down Kirk’s spine.

“Please, Miss Lissette,” he begged. “I’m sorry for everything I did to you! I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll resign from my job and let you have my position. Just don’t kill me!”

“You have your phone with you?” she demanded.

“Right pants pocket. My iPhone’s in there.”

She took it out. “Give me your email password. Your job for your life.” He recited a series of letters and numbers, which Lissette entered into the phone. She nodded as his email inbox opened up. “Don’t bother with writing a resignation letter, I’ll write it for you.”

“Okay. You got what you wanted. Are you going to let me go now?”

“No.”

“WHAT?! But you promised…”

“I lied.”

“You bitch, how could you…”

She hit him in the face with the gun, hearing the satisfying crunch of a facial bone somewhere breaking. “Spare me your self-righteous bullshit, cocksucker. First of all, we both know that if I let you go, you’d immediately run to the cops and try to get me arrested and your job back. And second, not that I was ever going to do it, but if I had given you sex, I have a feeling that you would have betrayed me and not kept your end of the bargain.” The guilty look that appeared on Kirk’s face confirmed her suspicions.

The defeated male quivered. “What are you going to do to me?”

“What you were going to do to me.” With that, Lissette suddenly shoved the gun barrel up his ass. Kirk let out a soulless scream of terror.

“Scream as loud as you want,” she cooed. “There’s no one to hear you for miles.” She used her considerable strength to force the weapon further in, ripping and tearing his rectum, taking sadistic pleasure in his cries of agony. Past instances of sexual harassment and crude, lewd behavior from guys flashed through her mind. Now she was getting revenge for it all.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to use me to try a bunch of different sexual things?” she sneered at her victim. “Did you want to fuck me up the ass? Well, now YOU know how it feels to get fucked up the ass. After screwing so many people over at work, it’s fitting that you’re now learning what it feels like to get screwed.” She thrust the pistol in and out as she spoke, simulating an ass fucking.

“Oh my God, baby,” she taunted. “I just can’t hold it back any longer! I’m going to shoot!” Kirk’s eyes went wide with terror as he prepared to meet his maker.

Lissette pulled the trigger ten times in rapid succession. The large-caliber bullets did devastating damage, ripping through his internal organs, destroying everything in their path. Her strong wrist easily handled the recoil as she fired the weapon one-handed. When the gun finally clicked empty, she withdrew it with a squishing sound and turned the body over. All of the bullets had gone completely through him and he now had ten large, bloody holes in his torso. Three of the rounds had penetrated his heart. His dead eyes were still frozen in an expression of pure fear.

Lissette felt her heart rate slowly return to normal. She scanned her surroundings carefully, looking and listening for any sign of another person. Nothing. Sighing in relief, she looked at her gun, now covered in blood and shit. She quickly cleaned it with water and paper towels she had thoughtfully brought along. She would do a more thorough cleaning later, at home. She then swiftly and expertly reloaded the weapon, just in case she ran into any trouble. She looked down at Kirk’s corpse. “So was it good for you too, baby?” she couldn’t resist saying.

Getting back to business, she took out a bag and a short length of rope that she had also thoughtfully brought along. She placed the dirty paper towels in the bottom of the bag, then collected several rocks and loaded them into the bag as well. Finally, she tied it securely shut and used the rope to tie the bag to the body. Dragging it across the grass, she shoved Kirk over the edge of the bluff, watching as the weighted corpse swiftly sank into the lake.

She picked up the phone and quickly sent an email to Aurora supposedly from Kirk, stating that it was his screw-up that had led to the client canceling his order, he had lied and wrongly blamed Lissette for it, he was resigning effective immediately and wouldn’t show up to work again, and he wanted Lissette to have his old position as atonement for his sins. After sending the message, she tossed the phone into the lake.

Reholstering her pistol underneath her black miniskirt, she took one last look at the cold, dark, unforgiving waters of the lake, then climbed into her car and headed for home. Kirk had been such an asshole that he had no real friends. No one was likely to discover that he was missing for weeks, maybe even months, and even then they would have every reason to believe that he had just gone off to start a new life somewhere else after his mistakes at work. No one would suspect that he had been killed.

The next day at work, Aurora called Lissette into her office. “I got an email from Kirk,” the older woman informed her. “It seems you were telling the truth and he was lying. He’s the one who screwed up the order, and he confessed to falsely blaming you for it. He said he felt so guilty about it that he’s resigning.”

Lissette, an excellent actress, looked surprised. “Well, I’m glad he finally decided to come clean. I hope he’s more honest at his next job.”

“Yes,” said Aurora. “Anyway, there’s now, naturally, a vacancy in the manager position that Kirk occupied, and on his recommendation I’m promoting you to it, effective immediately. Congratulations, you’ve earned it. Your sales numbers have always been excellent and you’ve consistently shown strong leadership skills.”

Lissette’s heart was beating rapidly with triumph, but she kept her true feelings well hidden. “Thank you,” she said calmly.

“Kirk said that he didn’t want to come back here, he was so ashamed at what he’d done. Do you mind moving his stuff out of his office so you can move yours in?”

“Not at all.”

“Great. Well, congratulations once again and good luck in your new position. I know you’ll do well.”

As soon as she had exited her boss’s office, Lissette pumped her fist in victory. She had gotten away with a kill. Again. Another notch on her belt.

But if she could have seen the suspicious look on Aurora’s face as she stood alone in her office, Lissette wouldn’t have been quite so happy…

Annabelle smiled as the lights focused on her. The sexy model went into her well-practiced series of poses as the photoshoot began. Her outfit consisted of low-cut, tight white pants, a brown leather belt, black leather boots, and a white sports bra. Being half Filipina and half European, she had inherited the best of both worlds, with beautiful, darkly tanned brown skin and a nice height of 5’8″. At 128 pounds, she had a slender but muscular body. Her hard six-pack abs were visible in the gap between pants and sports bra, and her tanned, toned, well-developed arms were accented by the studded black leather bracelets she wore on each of her strong wrists. Her breasts were small, firm, round 34B’s.

She turned her head, flipping her long silky black hair, and struck another pose. “Perfect, Annabelle,” said the photographer. “You really know how to work it.” The hot model gave a smile in response that was the perfect balance between confidence and gratitude.

“We’re going for the athletic look here, so I’d like to finish with a couple of action shots,” said the photographer. “Can you do a cartwheel?”

Annabelle winked. “I can do better than that.” With that, she suddenly executed a perfect cheerleader-style standing back handspring.

The entire film crew stared, then applauded. “Whoa,” said the photographer. “When I’m ready.”

Annabelle gave a charming laugh. When he gave the signal, she went into action again, this time doing three standing back handsprings in a row, then performing a one-arm cartwheel, a front handspring, and a roundoff back handspring. The crew applauded again.

“Well, I guess that’s a wrap,” said the photographer. “I look forward to working with you again, Miss Annabelle.”

As the crewmen began packing up their equipment, Annabelle chatted with them in the flirtatious but classy manner she was so skilled at pulling off. Suddenly, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. Peeking out from behind a barrier was a homely male face, staring directly at her with a look of sexual interest. It reminded her of that episode of Survivor 23 where Brandon was peeping on Mikayla from the bushes. When the peeper realized she was looking back at him, his face quickly retreated behind the wall.

Angered by his creepy behavior, she decided to teach him a lesson. She said her goodbyes to the crew, then picked up her things and started towards the exit. As soon as she was out of everyone’s sight, she doubled back, heading directly for the spot the pervert had been occupying. Hearing footsteps retreating in the distance, she followed them. Rounding a corner, she saw him just entering the men’s bathroom. Anger rose inside her. The little shit was probably going to jerk off to her.

She hurried down the hall and silently entered the restroom. Once inside, Annabelle quickly checked all the stalls to make sure no one else was there. There was only a single pair of feet in the far stall. She grinned wickedly. Perfect. She hung a conveniently located CLOSED – OUT OF ORDER sign on the bathroom door, then locked it from the inside.

She began advancing towards the far stall. At that point, a low moaning started up. “Oh, Annabelle, baby,” said the male voice. “Oh, Annabelle.”

She let out a growl, then kicked down the stall door with her big black boot. “Did you want me, honey?” she sneered at the man inside.

The pervert was seated on the toilet, his pants and underwear down around his ankles and his rock-hard cock in his hand. Caught with his pants down, literally, he stared in shock as the object of his degenerate lust appeared right before his eyes. “Miss Annabelle! What…How…”

She smirked. “I saw you peeping on me from behind that wall. So I decided to follow you. When I saw you go in here I figured you were going to wank off your nasty little pecker. Looks like I was right.” She crossed her brown arms, which were surprisingly big for a slim woman, in front of her. The leather bracelets covering the thinnest parts of her wrists and forearms had the effect of making her arms look even bigger. He trembled in fear and humiliation. “Well, go on and finish,” she challenged him.

“What?! But I…”

“What’s the matter? Not man enough? Maybe you want some help.” With that, Annabelle grabbed his boner with her right hand and began giving him a rough hand job, squeezing hard.

“Aaaaaahhhhhh,” he moaned, first in pleasure, then in pain, as she increased the strength of her grip. “You’re so strong… hurting me…”

She laughed. “I’m a girl, and I’m stronger than you. I thought you were supposed to be a man.” She held out her free arm and compared it to his. She knew her wrist measurement – it was a little over six and a half inches, which was big for a woman, especially a slender woman like her, but still smaller than the average man’s. But the pervert was not average, and Annabelle’s muscular, heavily developed, dark brown forearm with prominent veins was clearly thicker than his pale, thin, weak one. “Your arms are too weak and girly to ever squeeze your cock the way I’m doing.” She backhanded him across the face several times with her left hand.

Despite the blows, or perhaps because of them, he suddenly came violently, shooting a massive load of white semen right onto her deeply tanned forearm. She looked down at the mess in disgust. “You little fucker. You’re one of those loser schmoe males who’s turned on by stronger women, aren’t you. Well, do something useful for once and lick it off.”

He stared at her. “What?”

“Lick your faggoty cum off my forearm, before I beat you into doing it.”

“Fuck that shit, bitch,” he growled, suddenly turning angry and aggressive. “I ain’t no fag, and I ain’t doing that shit.”

Annabelle suddenly smashed her left fist into his nose, breaking it. She smiled coldly as he cried out in pain and the blood began bubbling. “Like hell you aren’t.” She rolled her dark brown eyes. “You’re probably so far in the closet, you’re in fucking Narnia.”

The pervert spat in fury. Standing up, he swung his fist at her elegant, high-cheekboned face, but she dodged it easily. He then tried a lower punch aimed at her stomach. Seeing it coming, she tensed her abs. He let out a howl as the completely ineffective attack bounced off her steel-hard dark brown wall of abdominal muscle. She laughed in his face. “Here’s how to do an ab attack.” As she spoke, her knee shot up, ramming hard into his gut. He doubled over in agony, clutching his stomach as he tried to breathe.

“Are you ready to clean up the mess you made, cocksucker?” she demanded.

He glared up at her, then began looking from side to side wildly. Annabelle laughed. “Are you going to cry for help?” she taunted her male victim. “Do you need someone to protect you from a girl? Like, seriously, what are you going to say? That you were jerking off to a female model, who then beat you up?” The perv hung his head in shame.

“You do not want to fuck with a mean bitch like me. Ever,” Annabelle continued. She punched him in the eye, turning it black. Then, in a display of cruel feminine dominance, she kicked him in the jaw with her big black boot, breaking it and knocking loose two of his teeth. She followed that up by smashing her knee into his groin.

“Okay, Mistress Annabelle!” he cried when he finally recovered from her devastating strikes. “I’ll lick my cum off your arm!”

She held out her thick, dark brown forearm. “Then get to licking, bitch. And make sure to swallow it all. I’m sure you’re used to swallowing, just like I bet you’re used to being the catcher.”

Sobbing in shame and total humiliation, the wanker began licking up his own cum, tears flowing down his ugly face as he choked it down. Annabelle laughed mockingly throughout the whole process, enjoying the total dominance she had over him, as well as a feeling of revenge on all the men who had treated her as a sex object. When he was finished, she ordered, “Take off your clothes.”

He hesitated. She made a fist. That was all the motivation he needed and he quickly stripped naked. She gathered up his clothes and tossed them behind her. “Sit back down on the toilet.”

He obeyed immediately. Annabelle crossed her muscular arms in front of her. “I’m taking your clothes and leaving you here nude as punishment for you thinking I was just a piece of meat without feelings for you to lust over. I never want to see you again. On the remote chance you aren’t fired for being naked at work, you’d better quit as soon as you get out of here, because if you’re still here when I come back for my next photoshoot, I will use you to redefine the words pain and humiliation. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress Annabelle.” He hung his head submissively, a broken shell of a man.

“And one more thing. Will you admit you’re a closeted fag?”

He hesitated only a second before replying, “Yes, Mistress Annabelle, I’m a closeted fag.”

Her full, pouty lips curled upward in triumph. She really didn’t care if he was one or not, she just wanted the satisfaction of knowing she could make him say it. “Good. And also, good night.” With that, she suddenly kneed him in the face with all her strength, knocking him out.

She wiped the blood off of the top of her knee-high black leather boot, then took one last look at the scene of destruction she had created. She nodded in satisfaction, picked up the pervert’s clothes, removed the sign from the bathroom door, and stole away quietly, making sure no one saw her.

Out in the parking lot, Annabelle climbed behind the wheel of her black BMW. She fixed her hair in the rearview mirror and put on her sunglasses before driving off. A few more years of modeling and she would have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her life. She thought of the poor suckers slaving away week in and week out at their nine-to-five jobs and smirked. She would be able to retire before she turned thirty. The only bad part about modeling was putting up with the perverts who ogled and harassed her. But even that shouldn’t be a problem, she thought. She had beaten and destroyed one perv. She could do the same to others.

My name is Brett. I’m 28 years old and married. My wife and I live in a nice two-story house in a quiet suburb of Reno, Nevada. Sounds pretty normal so far, right? Well, it’s about to get abnormal. My wife is a professional assassin.

Her name is Deborah and she’s the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman – confident, smart, beautiful, powerful, athletic, and feminine. I consider myself the luckiest guy in the world to be married to her.

Debbie is 32 years old, but looks more like 25 – when she’s in her “normal” look, anyway. (As a professional killer, she often plays different roles to get close to her target, and she can play anything from a ditzy 18-year-old girl to a 40-year-old soccer mom). She has long brown hair that goes down to the middle of her back, blue eyes, an elegant and high-cheekboned face, and a deep, healthy tan. Her long muscular legs, slim waist with six-pack abs, medium-sized and steel-hard ass, and ultra-toned arms all drive me wild. At 5’10” and 140 pounds, she towers over my 5’6″, 135-pound frame, especially when she wears her knee-high black leather boots with razor-sharp four inch high heels.

People do stare at us when we’re out in public. I guess they assume the only reason a woman like her would want a guy like me is that I’m a rich guy. But I’m not. I’m an IT specialist for a small company, and I make about 50 grand a year. Debbie makes much more than that with her… line of work. Depending on what kind of contracts she gets, she can pull in anything from half a million to 1.5 million a year, and all of it tax-free. It’s her money that’s allowed us to pay cash for our house, buy expensive cars, go on Hawaiian vacations, etc.

So our relationship is almost completely non-traditional. My wife is taller than me, stronger than me, makes more money than me, is more comfortable with violence than me, and is even older than me. A lot of guys – dumb guys – would let that intimidate them and make them feel insecure. But I don’t feel insecure at all. I mean, come on. I’m married to a beautiful, athletic, smart, rich woman. What guy with a functioning brain wouldn’t want that?

Now, just so there are no misconceptions: Do I still find myself in awe of her capabilities, even after knowing her for years? Yes, I do. Does she usually take the lead during sex? Absolutely, and we both like it that way. But do we have one of those weird relationships where she pushes me around or humiliates me or makes me do shit like eat bugs or wear women’s clothes? Definitely not. We have a passionate and healthy love for each other based on mutual respect, and though she’s strong enough to easily hurt me, she would never do that. We occasionally play sex games where she ties me up and spanks me, but we both strongly believe that that kind of activity should be restricted to the bedroom. At any rate, if we got too weird it might lead to attention from the neighbors, and as a professional assassin Debbie certainly doesn’t want that.

So why would a woman who could have any man she wanted get involved with a guy like me? Well, in the first place, we have a symbiotic relationship. Sometimes she needs someone with expert computer skills to help track down a target. That’s where I come in. And the hacking experience I get from tracking Debbie’s future victims helps me in my work, enabling me to better prevent hacker attacks on my company’s network.

Also, most guys don’t know the proper way to react around a woman like Debbie, and she hates that. When they found out the full range of her physical capabilities, most of the guys she dated would either become insecure and withdrawn, get aggressive and try to out-macho her (they always failed), or start acting like she was a dominatrix for hire and offer to humiliate themselves. While she enjoys being dominant, she also wanted a stable long-term relationship that had more meaning than just S&M sex.

We are quite different from each other. In addition to what I’ve already mentioned, Debbie is amazingly athletic. She was a three-sport varsity athlete in high school, on the softball, volleyball, and gymnastics teams. She’s excellent at doing back flips despite her height. She also received a full softball scholarship to the college of her choice. I, on the other hand, have never been good at sports. When I played baseball with the other neighborhood kids as a boy, the two team captains would do rock-paper-scissors to see who would pick first, and whichever captain lost would invariably moan, “Oh, no! I’m stuck with Brett!” And when I had completed the mandatory two years of physical education in high school, I remember jumping for joy (not very high).

But we have some similar interests too. We both enjoy traveling, going to hockey games, reality TV shows, and science fiction. And at the end of the day, at least in our case, opposites do attract. How did we meet? Well, that’s material for another story.

My wife has turned one of the smaller upstairs bedrooms into what’s basically her secret assassin room. Pretty much anything related to her kills, she keeps in there. She’s told me not to go in there for my own safety. If, God forbid, I’m ever captured and interrogated by her enemies, I can’t tell them what I don’t know. She also keeps quite an arsenal in there. I only see the weapons when she brings them out, but at various times I’ve seen an assault rifle, a submachine gun, Lara Croft-style twin pistols, a sniper rifle, a samurai sword, twin throwing daggers, and a crossbow. Though most of the weapons in the house are locked up in the arsenal, my wife does keep a pistol in the drawer next to her side of the bed, and a shotgun in the closet, just in case something happens. She’s taught me how to shoot and I’m sad to say that I’m quite bad at it. I can hit the broad side of a barn, but the narrow side might give me some trouble. Debbie, on the other hand, is an excellent markswoman. She can easily nail a head shot on a target from 500 yards.

I work regular nine-to-five hours, but my wife is home most of the time. She generally does about one hit a month. Because of her excellent reputation, she doesn’t take small jobs and can afford not to. Every contract she takes pays a minimum of fifty thousand dollars, and most pay more than that. She has something of a regular cycle. She spends a few days researching various offers, and after careful investigation she selects a contract. She then spends several days researching every little detail about her target and planning out exactly how she’s going to do her mission. If she needs computer help tracking him (they’re usually male) down I come in at that point. When she has everything she needs, she goes off on the actual mission. Sometimes she’s gone for six hours, sometimes six days. After her mission is accomplished she spends the rest of the month relaxing at home, the beach, the spa, etc. Sometimes I join her for vacations at this time, though not often because I only get two weeks of vacation a year. When the next month rolls around, the cycle starts all over again. Some months she declares a ‘vacation month’ and simply spends the whole time relaxing.

Quarter past five on a Friday afternoon. Finally home for the weekend. I pulled my silver Lexus (courtesy of my wife’s money, of course) into the driveway. Debbie’s black BMW still wasn’t there. She had left on Tuesday on one of her missions.

I turned on my cell phone to see if any calls had come in while I had been driving. My heart leapt with excitement when I found a message from my wife, saying she’d be home in a few hours. She generally doesn’t call me while away until her mission is completed. After she comes back from an assignment, we go out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate, then come back to the house to celebrate with sex. Our sex life is great all the time, but it’s by far the best right after she’s returned from a kill. She’s feeling aggressive, dominant, and powerful, and that gets her in the mood more than anything.

I made myself a ham sandwich to keep my stomach satisfied until we went out to dinner, then grabbed a book and plopped down on the couch. Around eight, the doorbell rang and I eagerly jumped up. Debbie walked in, looking beautiful as always. She was wearing black leather pants, a tight black T-shirt that showed off the outline of her small, firm, perky 36B breasts, and black leather gloves. Her tanned, muscular arms looked great and her long brown hair, which was wild and loose, added to her female warrior image. She greeted me with a long, aggressive kiss.

“Welcome home, Debbie,” I said when we finally pulled apart. “All went well?”

“Went great. One more scumbag taken out of commission permanently, one more notch on my belt. How have you been?”

“Same old, same old. Spent about half my time bailing out people at work after they forgot their passwords and locked themselves out of their own computers.”

Debbie tossed her wild hair and laughed, playfully pinching me on the ass. “I’ll go change quickly, then let’s go out. I had to hitch a ride on a cargo plane if I didn’t want to wait till tomorrow to get back here. No food service on there. On the way over on Tuesday the private jet came complete with a flight attendant who served me lunch.” She picked up the duffel bag she had taken with her, her arm muscles rippling as she did so. As she swept upstairs, I saw that she was wearing a dagger on each well-developed hip, and the long telescope case she wore over her shoulder undoubtedly carried her sniper rifle.

She came back downstairs three minutes later. She was now wearing a long, sleeveless red dress with a slit on one side. Her hair was piled up in an elegant bun. She looked equally beautiful as a tomboyish warrior or a feminine lady. “I’m wearing flats tonight,” she said. “I won’t look too much taller than you this time.”

As we sipped red wine at our favorite Italian restaurant, I looked into my wife’s deep blue eyes. “So, sweetie, how much can you tell me about this one? It turns me on so much to hear about your kills.”

Debbie gave me that heart-melting smile of hers. “Nothing too spectacular this time. He was a mid-level guy in a drug ring. There was a contract on him for $100,000, though, so I took it. I sniped him – it was only about 300 yards, so it was an easy shot. But on the way out I bumped into two of his bodyguards who had been spread out to watch for danger. That’s where my daggers came in handy. Their pieces ended up in two different dumpsters.”

“Wow,” I said. “I’d call that pretty spectacular.”

She laughed. “You think all of my kills are.”

“Well, they are.” I put my hand on hers. Looking down at our forearms positioned next to each other, I couldn’t help noticing the differences between them. Mine was pale, with no real muscle definition, while her forearm was darkly tanned and had prominent veins and heavily developed, well-defined muscles. Her wrist was bigger than mine – she had playfully commented on it once and we had measured them. Mine was six and a half inches around, while hers was just over seven inches. Her biceps were bigger than mine too – mine measured a paltry eleven and a quarter inches, compared to her impressive thirteen and a half.

“I wish I could come with you on a mission sometime,” I said. “I’d love to see you in action up close and personal.”

She leaned her head against mine. “As much as I’d enjoy your companionship, you know I can’t let you do that. It would be too dangerous. I feel responsible for protecting you and if anything ever happened to you I’d spend the rest of my life blaming myself.”

“I know. I understand. I just like imagining how exciting and fun it would be.” I sighed. She moved in and kissed me.

After an excellent dinner, we headed out to the parking lot. Just as we reached the black BMW, Debbie suddenly pushed me to the ground, shouting, “GET DOWN!” A split second later, several bullets went through the air space my chest had previously been occupying. They slammed into the BMW’s left rear window, shattering it.

Two men were standing at the edge of the parking lot, both armed with submachine guns. Debbie had already reached underneath her dress and whipped out a small pistol, which she had been wearing strapped to her thigh. More bullets were sprayed at us, some only missing by inches. My wife fired two expertly aimed shots, one nailing one man right in his forehead and the other hitting the other guy in the arm. As his companion’s corpse slumped to the asphalt, the second man screamed in pain, dropping his weapon and clutching his wounded arm.

She tossed me the keys. “Start the car!” Trying to snap myself out of the state of shock I was in, I managed to stand up and open the driver’s door. My body was still shaking. Debbie, too well-disciplined and used to violence to have a freak-out, raced toward the injured man, doing a roundoff followed by a series of back handsprings in his direction. As she elegantly backflipped at him, he wasted precious seconds staring at this image of athletic, feminine beauty, amazed that a girl could do back handsprings in a long dress. He finally began reaching for his gun, but it was too late. Debbie had been much too quick for him. She crashed into him on her last backflip, knocking him to the ground, while she landed perfectly on her feet. She bent down and knocked him out with a swift karate chop to his neck.

I had managed to get the car started by this time. My wife motioned for me to drive it over. I did so and she opened the rear door. Picking up the unconscious man, she tossed him into the back seat. He was a medium-sized guy and she was able to handle his weight easily. She jumped in after him. “Now go! Fast!”

I raced out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires. As I drove off, I saw in the rearview mirror that several people were coming out of the restaurant, hands over their mouths as they saw the dead body.

“Thank you for saving my life,” I said. In the rearview mirror, I saw her smile.

“Now what?” I asked. My heart rate had declined somewhat since the shooting, but it was still well above normal.

“Take us out of town, out into the desert. I need to interrogate this fucker to see who put him and his buddy up to it.” She looked behind her. Satisfied that no one was following the car, she added, “That was some excitement right there.”

Remembering what I had said in the restaurant, I suddenly felt guilty. Debbie must have sensed what I was thinking, because she said, “You have nothing to feel bad about. You had no way of knowing that was going to happen.” I felt better immediately.

About fifteen minutes later, she said, “This is far enough.” I pulled over and turned off the engine. Debbie pulled out the thug, who was just regaining consciousness, and threw him onto the dirt. “You may want to step away,” she told me. “Things could get brutal if he refuses to talk.”

“It’s okay, I’ll stay.”

She forced the would-be assassin into a kneeling position. He was awake by now and glared at her, then at me. I shivered in fear as his angry eyes focused in my direction. I was very glad my wife was out here with me.

Debbie reached under her dress and pulled out her pistol. Pointing it at the man, she said, “It’s very simple. Tell me what I want to know and I won’t shoot you, or refuse and I will shoot you. Your call.”

“I ain’t telling you nothing, bitch,” the thug growled. Her face remained expressionless. That seemed to frighten him more than an angry expression would have. He talked tough, but was trembling with fear inside.

Debbie suddenly rammed her knee into his face. Blood sprayed out from the impact. Some of it landed on her dress, which luckily was red and matched the color. Her model-like face still showed no emotion as he cried out in pain. She kneed his face again. More blood and another shriek of pain. “Every time I knee you, I’m doing more damage,” she said calmly. “Soon the damage will be permanent and irreversible. I suggest you start talking before then.”

She began raising her knee.

“Wait!” he cried out. “If I talk, do you swear you won’t shoot me?”

“You have my word of honor,” she answered.

“Okay, I’ll talk! Someone put a bounty on YOUR head. Two million dollars.”

She smiled slightly and glanced over at me. “Well! I had no idea I was worth that much.” She turned back to the thug. “Who put the bounty out?”

“I don’t know.”

“Wrong answer.” She began raising her knee again.

“Wait! Please! I swear I don’t know! He’s not going to tell who he is, he’s too smart for that! It was over the Internet, completely anonymous!”

“I have a printout of the email he sent me in my pocket. That’s all I got from him.”

“Take it out. Slowly.” She aimed her gun at his forehead to enforce her point. Shaking with fear, the man obeyed. My wife motioned for me to approach. Normally I would have been nervous about getting close to a guy who was likely a trained killer, but I could see that she had him completely under control.

She handed me the paper. “Can you trace this email?”

I looked at it. “I think so.”

“Good.” Debbie turned back to the failed assassin. “That means we don’t need you anymore, and that means it’s time for you to die.”

“Wait! No!” he protested. “You gave me your word of honor that you wouldn’t shoot me!”

“I know. I’m keeping my promise. I’m going to kill you with my knee.” With that, she rammed her knee into him again, but aimed a little lower this time. Her knee impacted the underside of his chin with such force that it snapped his neck backward, breaking it with a sharp CRACK. The dead body slumped to the desert floor. My wife looked at the corpse dispassionately, while I looked at it with wide eyes.

Slipping her pistol back underneath her dress, she came close and held me affectionately. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, honey. Thanks to you. You were amazing, once again. You seem so fearless.”

“I’m not. I’m human like you and there are things that scare me. But not that guy. He was just a small-time thug.” She held me tighter. I loved this girl who could go from brutal killer to loving wife in just a few seconds.

“Our home may not be safe,” Debbie said when we finally pulled apart. “Let’s check into a hotel.” She got behind the wheel of her BMW. I got into the seat beside her and we drove off, leaving the dead body for the vultures.

“Just one quick stop before we go to the hotel,” said my wife as she drove. “Luckily we’re already out here in the desert.” I was puzzled as she drove down a series of dirt roads, then came to a stop by two large boulders. Midway between them was a smaller rock. She went over and lifted it, revealing that it was a fake rock covering a chest. With a key from her large keyring, she unlocked it.

“One of my secret stashes,” she explained. “I knew that someday we might get into a situation where I couldn’t access my main arsenal in the house.” I peered into the chest. Inside were a mini-Uzi submachine gun, a 9mm pistol, a crossbow, several spare magazines of ammunition, and a quiver of arrows. There were also MREs, bottles of water, and a small, locked box. She unlocked the box with yet another key from the large keyring. Inside this one were half a dozen wads of $100 bills, two tubes filled with gold Krugerrands, and two more tubes of silver dollars.

I stared at my wife. “Debbie, you never told me…”

“Sorry, Brett. I guess I should have told you.” She stroked my cheek. “Forgive me?”

“Of course I do.” I touched my forehead with hers. I had to stand on my toes to do it, as she was taller.

“Thanks, sweetie.” She turned back to the chest and removed all the weapons and ammo. “We’ll leave the food and water here, and the gold and silver too. A different kind of situation might come someday when we’ll need those. We have all our credit cards, but just to be safe I’ll take half of this cash out.” She slipped three of the six wads of bills into a convenient dress pocket, then locked the small box and the chest again and put back the fake rock.

As we were carrying the weapons and ammo to the car, my wife said, “By the way, I have two other secret stashes out in the desert. One is north of town and the other is to the southwest. I’ll tell you the directions of how to get to each. Memorize them because they can’t be written down anywhere.” I memorized them quickly. At least that was something I was good at.

Debbie popped the trunk open and we put the submachine gun, crossbow, and ammo inside. She handed the pistol to me. “Brett, I want you to carry this with you at all times until I take out the guy who’s behind all this.” I took it a little nervously – I still wasn’t that comfortable with guns – and put it in my pocket. She still had her own pistol in her dress pocket. It was nice that they made formal evening dresses with pockets.

I was silent in the car on the way to the hotel. The full magnitude of what had happened was finally sinking in. Deep down, I had always known that my wife’s profession could put me in danger someday, but I had never really given much thought to it, probably because it was something I feared. But there was no getting away from it now.

We pulled up to one of the big casino hotels downtown (the closest thing to a high-end hotel in this town – such is life in Reno). Soon we were in a large suite on one of the upper floors. The large weapons and ammo we managed to smuggle into the hotel in a couple of big bags. Finally (relatively) safe, Debbie bolted and chained the door, put a chair in front of it, then sat on the bed next to me and looked into my eyes. “Are you okay, Brett? Are you *really* okay?”

“Yes, honey. The shock’s finally worn off. Mostly.”

“I’m sorry I got you into this. If you weren’t married to me…”

“No!” I cried out. “Don’t say that. Being married to you is the best thing that could ever possibly happen to me. I’ll happily take everything that comes along with that. Including the danger. I’d much rather be married to you and have my life at risk than be married to some non-warrior woman and have a perfectly safe life. Don’t blame yourself for what happened.”

She kissed me, gently. “That’s why I love you. You may be a shy and quiet man, but when you feel passionately about something you always stand up and speak out.” She began undoing her hair, which was still in a bun. “You know, we’re here together and we have this nice suite. And we need something to take our minds off what happened…”

I got an automatic erection in my pants. She noticed and laughed. Motioning for me to remove my clothes, she kicked her shoes off and took off her dress. She stood there dressed only in red panties – because of her exceptionally firm and perky breasts, she didn’t wear bras, except for sports bras when she worked out. Her nipples looked like they could cut glass. She wrapped her hand around my erect cock and applied pressure. The muscles in her big forearm became even more defined. The slightest movement she made with her arm always caused the muscles to start rippling. I moaned in pleasure, then in pain as she increased the strength of her grip. “Sweetie, you know your superhumanly strong forearms turn me on immensely and you’re probably strong enough to crush it, but please don’t,” I gasped out.

She relaxed the pressure. “Sorry hun. Better?”

“Mmmm yes, Miss Debbie.”

She began moving her hand in a rhythmic and steady up-and-down motion, sending new waves of pleasure through me. It was not long before I came hard, shooting a large load of semen onto her wrist. The white cum sharply contrasted with the darkly tanned skin of her forearm. I wiped it off with some tissues (no, she’s not one of those women who makes her man lick it off), then kissed her clean wrist in tribute to the powerful muscles that could give so much pleasure…or pain.

She smiled seductively, then sensually removed her red panties, sitting there completely nude. Her dark brown pussy hair was neatly trimmed. She stood up and turned around, then launched herself into a powerful standing back tuck, her well-developed thigh and butt muscles propelling her high into the air. She landed neatly on the bed and motioned for me to lie on my back. She then performed a cartwheel into the splits, landing her splits perfectly centered right on my face. Her wet pussy was right over my mouth and I eagerly began going down on her. She grinded down hard as I plesured her with my tongue and I knew that my face would be bruised tomorrow. Soon she had a powerful orgasm, screaming “Yes! Yes! Yes!” as she came all over my face.

As I was wiping the sticky girl-cum off my face, a loud banging came from the opposite wall. The suite was available with one or two bedrooms. We just needed one, and when not part of the suite the second bedroom was sold as a separate room. Whoever was in there now was making the ruckus. A man’s angry voice shouted, “Why don’t you fuckheads keep it down in there!”

Debbie giggled. “Cranky bastard, ain’t he? Well, let’s get back to business.” With that, I lay down again on my back, my cock now hard again and pointing straight up in the air. She giggled again when she saw, then mounted me in a reverse cowgirl position. She fucked me dominantly and hard. My earlier release, courtesy of her handjob, allowed me to last much longer this time. She came hard and first, then had an equally powerful second orgasm, moaning and shrieking in pleasure all the way. Finally I came, shooting my load deep into her. She climbed off me and we lay in the bed next to each other, breathing heavily.

Suddenly the banging on the wall started again, louder this time. “I thought I told you motherfuckers to keep it the fuck down!” came the angry voice.

My wife’s eyes got that mischievous sparkle and she got out of bed. Putting on her panties and dress, she said, “I think I’ll teach that asshole a lesson.” Noticing the worried look on my face, she added, “Don’t worry. I won’t do any permanent damage. She walked over to the connecting door and opened the one on our side. I put on my clothes and followed several feet behind her, my heart pounding.

Debbie suddenly did a lightning-fast high kick, the slit on the side of her dress enabling her to do it without damaging the garment. Her foot crashed into the other side’s connecting door with extreme force, splintering it and knocking it down. The man inside, who was dressed in a button-down shirt and boxer underwear and had been furiously typing on a laptop, jumped up and turned around, a look of fear and anger on his ugly face. His mouth dropped open in shock when he saw the remnants of the kicked-down door…and my wife standing in the doorway.

“How…how are you strong enough to…” he gasped.

Debbie laughed. “I get that a lot.”

She advanced on him. He was about my height, so my wife was a good four inches taller than him. Her muscular, tanned body looked powerful and dominant next to this scrawny loudmouth, whose pale, weak legs were showing. He cowered in fear.

Her fists moved, first one and then the other. There were two loud impact sounds and one cry of pain. He now had a broken nose and black right eye. She kneed him hard in the stomach. He doubled over, unable to breathe. She grabbed him and tilted his head up, looking straight into his frightened eyes. “My husband and I have had a very rough day and we’re trying to enjoy each other’s company,” she said coldly. “And we don’t need you giving us any shit. So take this as a lesson in manners.” With that, she headbutted him with all her strength, knocking him down and unconscious. She turned to me and winked, then walked over to her victim’s pants, which were lying on the bed.

When the loud jerk woke up, Debbie was standing over him, her muscular arms crossed in front of her. She smiled icily down at him. “Okay, asshole, here’s the deal. You’re going to keep quiet for the rest of the night. And you’re going to tell the hotel that YOU broke the door and pay for it yourself.” She pointed to his pants pocket. “While you were out, I looked in your wallet and memorized the address on your driver’s license,” she continued. “If you try to give us any shit or don’t do as you’re told, I know where you live and I will pay you a visit. Is that clear?”

“Y…yes,” he stammered, shaking like the coward he was. The biggest talkers always crumbled the quickest when faced with real strength.

“Are you going to be a good boy and do what I told you to do?”

“Y…yes,” he stammered again.

“You will address me as Mistress Lara,” she smirked, using one of her favorite undercover names.

“Y…yes, Mistress Lara.”

“Good.” She tossed her long beautiful brown hair and smiled. “Sleep tight, sucker.”

Once we were back in our room and the connecting door was closed, she turned to me, laughing. “That was fun.”

“And we needed it,” I said.

“That’s right.” Her elegant face became serious. “Let’s try to get a good night’s sleep. We have a lot of work to do starting tomorrow. There are going to be a lot of bad guys after us.”

“May the odds be ever in our favor,” I said. My wife giggled.

The next day, after a room service breakfast, we were both sitting in the living room of the suite. I was on my spare laptop (which, luckily, I had had in the car) trying to trace the email Debbie had gotten from the would-be assassin. My wife was cleaning her pistol.

“This isn’t an ordinary email,” I said as I typed away. “It’s got a lot of encryption and extra security. But I’ll find out where it came from. It’s only a matter of time.” Debbie smiled, came over and gently kissed me on the forehead, then went back to cleaning her gun.

“Do you have any idea who might be behind this?” I asked.

“It could be anyone. I’ve killed many targets and the friends of any one of them could be the ones who put the bounty out. But I thought I covered my tracks well enough each time. If it does turn out to be one of them I need to find out how they found out it was me so this doesn’t happen again.”

I continued pecking away at the computer. Finally, about fifteen minutes later, I shouted excitedly, “I got it! The email was sent from a company computer at a place called Dyno-Novo Industries.”

“Jesus Christ,” Debbie swore.

“What is it, honey?”

“Dyno-Novo. They were one of the organizations that HIRED me. A few months ago they paid me half a million to whack some industrial espionage guy who they said was stealing secrets from their company. It looks like they want to keep their secrets so well guarded that they feel the need to have me ‘cleaned up’ Jack Ruby style.” She got up and stood behind me, looking at the computer screen. “Can you find out which individual sent the message?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s a company address not matched to any one person. It could be anyone who works there.”

“Fuck. So we have no way of knowing who’s involved or how high up the corruption might go. Unless…” Debbie’s blue eyes lit up as she explained her idea. She reached into her purse and took out a makeup case. She then lay down on the floor. Following her instructions, I applied red makeup on her forehead to look like a bullet hole, complete with what looked like blood trickling down from the wound. I then got my cell phone and used it to take a picture.

As I uploaded the picture to the computer, Debbie stood back up and grinned wickedly. “Now those fuckers will think I’m dead,” she said, wiping off the phony blood. “How long will it take you to hack into Mr. Failed Assassin’s email account?”

“Just a couple of minutes. His doesn’t have the security that Dyno-Novo’s did.”

“Good. Ask for a meeting and tell them to have the cash ready.” I quickly hacked into the dead thug’s email and typed the message my wife wanted. I attached the picture of her and clicked SEND.

“Now we’ll find out who the guilty ones are,” Debbie said. Her voice and look were passionate but cold. I was glad this lethal beauty was on my side.

We came back to the suite a couple of hours later. I had lost about $500 on the slot machines, but Debbie had won $2,000 on the roulette wheel and another $3,000 at poker. She’s really good at reading poker faces.

I immediately went to the computer. Sure enough, there was a response from Dyno-Novo. “They want to meet tonight at nine in a warehouse,” I reported. “Here’s the address.”

“Good job,” she said, kissing me. “Let’s have an early dinner, then around seven I’ll head out there so I can be there by 7:30. That should be enough time before they show up to set up an ambush.”

“You’re going alone?” I asked. Truth be told, I didn’t really want to go. I’m not used to dangerous combat situations and have no desire to get a lot of experience in that area. But the desire to be near her and watch over her while she was in danger, plus my desire to see her in action, pulled my thoughts in the opposite direction.

She came over and held me. “Trust me, Brett. I’ve never thought of you as a coward and I never will. There’s nothing cowardly about someone with no real combat training staying out of a danger zone. I really think it’s best if I went alone.”

“All right, Debbie. If you think it’s best.” She smiled, then led me towards the bed.

After an afternoon of lovemaking, followed by dinner in one of the hotel restaurants, we went back up to the suite so Debbie could change into her combat outfit. When she was ready, she was wearing tight black pants that showed off her muscular ass, black boots, black leather gloves, and a tight black top with three-quarter length sleeves that emphasized her perky breasts and slim waist, and showed off her big forearms. She wore the crossbow on her back and had the Uzi slung across her chest. Her pistol was on her hip. She put on a long coat to cover the weapons.

We stood by the door as she prepared to leave. “I don’t think anyone will find you here, but just to be safe make sure to keep your pistol on you, especially if you go downstairs. And if you do go downstairs make sure to hang the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door. Try to relax and have some fun while I’m gone. Don’t worry about me too much. I’ll call you as soon as the action’s over at the warehouse.” She kissed me on the lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Debbie. Stay safe and kick some ass.”

After my wife had left, I tried to distract myself by watching TV, but I couldn’t concentrate on any of the shows. I then decided to go downstairs and play the slot machines some more. Maybe that would work. But the slot machines couldn’t stop my worrying either, even though I was winning this time.

I looked around at all the happy (and some sad) people gambling, talking, laughing, crying…all oblivious to the dark forces my wife was up against. I decided I couldn’t take it any longer. I couldn’t be one of those oblivious people. I had to be with the woman I loved in her hour of danger. Even though I was not the kind of man who was capable of protecting her, I had to be man enough to try. I looked at my watch. It was 7:40. There was still time. I went outside and stood in the taxi line.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” the taxi driver asked as he pulled up to the warehouse. “There isn’t anybody here at this time of night.”

“Yes, this is it,” I said. I paid him and climbed out, watching as the vehicle disappeared in the distance. Completely alone now, I shivered. Was I doing the right thing? Patting my pocket to make sure my pistol was there, I headed for the warehouse entrance. It was only a little after eight and the bad guys shouldn’t be here yet. I would find my wife and we would wait together.

I looked at the front door, then paused. What if the bad guys had come early and were watching the door? I decided instead to head around the side of the building. Finding an unlocked window, I climbed inside, my heart pounding. I made my way cautiously though the dark warehouse. Suddenly, a tall figure popped up right in front of me. I almost wet myself in fear before recognizing the feminine shape of my wife.

“Dammit, Brett, what are you doing here?” she whispered. “I heard someone sneaking in the side window and thought it was one of the bad guys.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, hanging my head. “I just couldn’t stay away.”

“You’re definitely not a coward, but you just may be a fool,” Debbie said, in a tone that was angry and loving at the same time. “If you want to stay safe, go out the way you came and go down to the next block. I’ll call you when…” She suddenly stopped when we both heard the sound of someone climbing in the same window I had come through. A second later, we heard the front door of the warehouse open.

I paled in fear. My wife’s face kept its tan color, but there was a look of alarm in her blue eyes. “No time,” she whispered. “Hide!” She pointed to a space surrounded by piles of boxes on three sides. “Whatever you do, stay here and shoot anyone that isn’t me,” she whispered. Trembling, I nodded and pulled out my pistol with a shaky hand.

Debbie spotted a platform about nine feet above the warehouse floor. She leapt upward, grabbing the edge with her leather-gloved hands, and used her upper-body strength to pull herself up. She positioned herself and took out her crossbow. Inserting an arrow, she waited.

From the direction of the side window, two men appeared, both in work clothes and both carrying pistols. Then from the direction of the front, two more men appeared. One wore a trench coat and carried an assault rifle. The other was dressed in a business suit and had a pistol in his right hand and a briefcase in his left. The man in the suit uttered a sharp command and the two men in work clothes moved in opposite directions, taking up positions in the shadows. The other two men remained where they were.

Debbie took aim at the workman nearest her. In his position, he was not directly visible to any of his comrades. She fired, sending an arrow straight through his heart. Before his corpse had hit the floor she was already reaching for another arrow. The body hit the floor with a THUD.

“What the fuck was that?” came from the man in the suit. The thug in the trench coat raised his rifle.

Debbie fired another shot from her crossbow at the second workman, who was also not directly visible to his companions. This time, her arrow impacted her victim in the head, causing it to erupt in a fountain of blood and brain matter. Another THUD and another curse. The man with the assault rifle opened fire wildly.

Whipping out her Uzi, my wife fired two quick but expertly aimed bursts. The first put half a dozen holes in the shooting man’s chest, dropping him stone cold dead. The second burst sent another half dozen bullets into the other man’s legs. He fell to the floor, screaming in pain and dropping both gun and briefcase. Debbie backflipped off the platform, landing neatly on her feet on the warehouse floor. She hurried over to the wounded man, keeping her submachine gun trained on him. She kicked his gun across the room.

“How the fuck are you still alive? Where’s Ziggy?” the thug groaned, recognizing her.

“I’m guessing Ziggy is the would-be assassin who failed to kill me last night. He’s dead. My husband and I played a trick on you and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker,” she smirked.

“Dammit, bitch, how could you have…”

Debbie stomped hard on his face with her big black size 10 boot. “I’ll be asking the questions now, asshole. Now are there any more of you guys here?”

“No,” he gasped out. He was bleeding quite badly.

“You’d better not be lying, cocksucker,” she snarled.

“I swear, it was just the four of us! Please!”

“All right. Now tell me the whole story of putting a bounty on my head. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.” She aimed her Uzi at his groin threateningly.

Trembling in fear, the man began, “One of our rival companies was developing a valve system that could be used in space suits to make them less bulky. NASA would pay big bucks for something like that. So we had a spy go in and steal the technology. We were going to patent it as our own and sell it to NASA first. Then one of their security guys got suspicious and started an investigation. Luckily, we were able to stop him in time.”

“That was the guy you hired me to kill. He wasn’t a spy at all. You dirty lying fuckers, you manipulated me into killing an innocent man,” Debbie growled as she realized. She looked down dominantly at her terrified victim. “Go on,” she said icily.

“Well, we became afraid that you knew too much,” he continued. “So we…you know. That’s the whole story.”

“Who else is involved?” my wife demanded.

“Just my boss, Mr. Skinner. He was the one who came up with the whole thing.”

“That’s all? Who was the spy?”

The wounded man pointed to the corpse in the trench coat next to him. “He was the spy. And yeah, that’s all. Just Skinner and his three bodyguards.”

“And where is this Skinner now?”

“At his house, I guess. 1330 Baker Street.”

“All right. That’s all I need.”

The thug sat up. “When you call the police to get me, can you call an ambulance too?”

Debbie laughed. “Police? Are you nuts? I’m not going to have you arrested. I’m going to kill you.”

“But…please…no…” His begging was halfhearted, as he knew my deadly wife wasn’t changing her mind. Debbie calmly wrapped her muscular thighs around his neck, then twisted her hips 180 degrees, brutally snapping his neck like a dry twig.

I climbed out from my hiding place and stood next to my wife, looking down at all the dead bodies. “Once again, you were amazing,” I said to her.

She let the tension exit her body. “Thank you, sweetie. And you were a fool. But a brave and loving fool.”

Debbie bent down and opened the briefcase. Inside was two million dollars in $100 bills. She grinned. “With this plus the money I’ve already earned, we’ll have enough to buy that very nice private turboprop plane I’ve had my eye on.” I should mention that in addition to her many, many other talents, my wife has had pilot training.

“So now what?” I asked.

“We go get Skinner, of course. And by we, I mean me.” Noticing the disappointed look on my face, she added, “After I take out his bodyguards, I’ll let you watch me take care of Skinner.” I smiled at that.

Skinner’s house was a large two-story dwelling not far from his place of business. Debbie parked a couple of blocks away and instructed me to wait in the car. Staying hidden in the shadows, she made her way towards the house.

A bodyguard was on duty outside, carrying a shotgun. She snuck up behind him. Wrapping a muscular arm around his neck, she gave a quick jerk, breaking his neck. Smirking to herself at her strength, she lowered the corpse to the ground. She took a ring of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the front door. Inside, she encountered no one until she reached the bottom of the staircase. Hearing footsteps approaching, she quickly hid.

Soon the second bodyguard came into view. She popped out from her hiding place and, before he could react, punched him in the face, sending him down. Standing over him, she raised her right leg in a full vertical split, then brought her booted foot down with tremendous force onto his head. Her lethal axe kick shattered his skull easily, sending blood, brain matter, and pieces of bone flying everywhere. Debbie climbed the stairs swiftly but silently.

She found the third bodyguard and Skinner himself in the den. “Evening, gentlemen,” she said as she entered the room. Both men looked up in surprise. With a shrill, feminine, high-pitched warrior scream, Debbie performed a front tuck somersault to take her right to them. Landing perfectly on her feet, she fired a lethal palm strike into the bodyguard’s face as he was trying to draw his gun. The cartilage from his nose was driven into his brain and he slumped dead in the chair he had been sitting in.

Skinner recognized my wife. “You! What the fuck are you do…”

POW! Debbie punched him in the face, knocking him out and knowing it would leave him unconscious for at least fifteen minutes. “And that’s what happened while you were in the car,” my wife finished as we stood together in the den, looking at Skinner’s unconscious form.

When Skinner woke up, Debbie was standing right in front of him, her muscular arms crossed in front of her. He gave a yelp of fear. I was seated in a chair across the room, watching the whole thing.

“I know everything,” she said to him calmly. “I know that you were the real industrial spies. I know that you were the one who put the hit out on me. I killed the would-be assassins that came after me, I killed your co-conspirators, and I killed your other two bodyguards before I came in here. Now all that’s left is you.”

“What are you going to do?” he whimpered, shaking like a leaf.

“Well, if you can actually put up a fight against me, I’m going to fight you to the death. But more likely, it’s just going to be a one-sided massacre of me beating you to death.” She showed off her large, ultra-developed forearms that were displayed by the three-quarter length sleeve top.

“Please,” Skinner begged. “I can give you more money…”

“Are you hard of hearing or just slow? I’m not interested in your money. I’m only interested in your death. Now get up and fight me like a man.”

Skinner got to his feet, still shaking. At 5’8″ and 140 pounds, he was a little bigger than me, but smaller than my wife. He tried to punch her, but she dodged easily and nailed his cheek with a quick jab, opening a bloody cut on his face. He took another swing, which Debbie blocked with her thick forearm. She responded by lashing out with a swift and brutal punch to his left eye, turning it black. As he stood there stunned, she kneed him in the stomach, stepped back and with a whirl nailed his face with a spinning back fist, and then performed a standing back handspring, kicking him in the head with both feet as she flipped and knocking him to the floor.

“Get up, you big baby,” she mocked him, kicking him in the side while he was down and breaking one of his ribs with her powerful, well-aimed kick. Cursing and moaning in pain, Skinner got up and tried to charge her. She stopped him easily with a kick to his chest. She roundhouse kicked him in the side, breaking another of his ribs, then crescent kicked him in the face, sending him flying backward and into a wall.

A dizzy Skinner tried to look for a way to escape. Instead, he saw Debbie turn into a brunette blur as she did a blindingly fast series of cartwheels and handsprings toward him. He froze helplessly like a rabbit faced with a snake and a second later my wife was on him, punching him in the stomach and causing him to double over gasping for breath. Struggling to stand back upright, he took a swing at Debbie’s stomach. Seeing it coming, she simply tensed her abs. He screamed in pain as his fist impacted the rock-hard wall of my wife’s abdominal muscle and several small bones in his hand broke. His other hand flew to his mouth in shock and fear. She immediately kicked him in the face while his hand was there, breaking both his jaw and several small bones in that hand too. She savagely kneed him in the groin, then headbutted him, knocking him down again.

Skinner was in the fetal position, clutching his badly damaged testicles. Debbie leapt on top of him and punched him in the nose with her big, leather-gloved fist, breaking it. She rained several more punches down onto his face, sending blood and teeth flying. Finally, she climbed off of him and placed her semi-conscious victim in a sitting position against the wall. She then began kneeing him in the face. She worked calmly and efficiently, ignoring his cries of pain and the blood that was flying everywhere. She simply continued ramming her knee into his face again and again, slowly pulping him to death as her relentless knee strikes weakened, then cracked, then shattered his skull bone and penetrated deep into the remnants of his brains. She finally stopped long after she had killed him.

She turned towards me. She was covered in blood. I sat there, unable to move or speak. I shouldn’t be that way. I’ve known what she does for a living! But I simply was not used to seeing extreme violence up close…or seeing my warm and loving wife being so brutal.

“You okay, sweetie?” she asked.

I finally managed to speak. “Yes. I think so,” I said, standing up. In every action movie with tough, macho male heroes, a man who was brutal to the bad guys was never portrayed as a dangerous or unsuitable mate to a woman. Why should it be any different with the sexes reversed?

After that we cleaned up, literally and figuratively. I hacked into Skinner’s computer and put the word out that he was dead and the contract on my wife was off. Debbie took off her bloody clothes, washed up in Skinner’s shower, and put on a fresh outfit. “It’s over now,” she said as we embraced in the room where the dead bodies still lay. “Let’s go home.”